


oh, nameless joy

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Opera Singers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Brienne is the Best, F/M, Operas, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Cersei, come on,” Jaime sighs, “Leonore's range is too high. You know that. We know that. We have a substitute. There is no reason to -”“You shut up about her! For God’s sake, can’t you all see that someone with her face will make people flee?”Brienne Tarth, their secondary soprano singer, who hasn’t spoken a word until now even if she’s the main subject of this conversation, openly flinches, but then she clears her throat and everyone in the room looks at the wall against which she had been standing. “I thought,” she says slowly, “that the entire point of doing opera was knowing how to sing, not how you look. Or am I wrong?”





	oh, nameless joy

**Author's Note:**

> ... So. A while ago, like in 2016 or smth, someone on tumblr asked me for a J/B victorian au while I was taking prompts and given that I know shit about Victorian era or at least not enough to write fic for it that's not ripped from some period procedural tv show I went like HEY LET'S DO THE OPERA SINGERS AU BECAUSE AT LEAST I KNOW HOW *THAT* WORKED. Then I forgot it and last day I was checking the backload of stuff I had on tumblr that I need to repost on here, I saw this and since I was kind of thinking about doing the opera singers au just with a lot more people in modern times I figured it was time to put it here and see if doing it technically like this is viable. (IE: if the way I worked in the original sung parts is confusing or anything feel free to tell me so I can take note of it. xD) For the rest, this is most probably the most self indulgent shit in existence that I could ever conceive (for now) but bear with me. Have fun with my self-indulgence. u__u
> 
> Additional info: the opera they're putting up is Beethoven's [Fidelio](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fidelio), which is actually very j/b in itself it'd make an a++++ AU but maybe some other time, and the title is also the translation of the name of a duet they sing in this. If you actually want to listen to the pieces relevant to this fic, they're linked in the fic itself and you'll handily be redirected to youtube u_u of course, as usual, nothing belongs to me, like, ZERO, they are GRRM's, at least the libretto is free for all for quoting since Beethoven's long dead and I'll just saunter back downwards now.

 

I.

 

“Absolutely  _not_!” Cersei declares, stomping her foot down.

Jaime sometimes thinks that she’s been doing this job too long - that’s what happens when theatrics are  _too much_  part of your blood.

Their father isn’t looking too impressed at her outburst. Tyrion is looking at his accounting book as if it’s the most interesting thing in existence. Good choice, if you ask Jaime - he wouldn't be wanting to have this conversation with her, either.

“You can't just put me to the side like this. I  _made_  this company. I have a right -”

“Cersei,” their father says, sounding at the end of his wits. And Jaime knows it’s not good news, if his father sounds at the end of his wits. “It’s  _Her Majesty’s Theater_. I founded this company with perspectives in my mind. I wouldn’t want to invest my money wrongly, and if this one opera fails, I will lose more than I can count for. We did not get hired just because of our art.”

Translation:  _I bribed the director_ , Jaime thinks.

“Then convince them to change the title! Surely -”

“Cersei,” Tyrion sighs, “did you hear that we  _bribed the director_? Choosing the opera is out of question. And on top of that, sorry but no one here wishes to alienate the audience by having you and Jaime play  _lovers,_ whether it's bloody Wagner or  _this_ opera in the first place. It's not happening."

“And what would they know?”

“Usually, if two people with the same name are listed, one would assume that they’re related. And other than that, if you never bothered to go with Jaime to German lessons, you  _can’t_  sing Leonore, same as you can't sing whichever Wagner you had in mind. Make peace with it, your German diction is abysmal. You're not singing Leonore and you're definitely not singing Sieglinde, and that's the end of it.”

“I sure  _can_  -”

“Cersei, come on,” Jaime sighs, “Leonore's range is too high. You know that. We know that. We have a substitute. There is no reason to -”

“You shut up about  _her!_ For God’s sake, can’t you all see that someone with  _her_  face will make people flee?”

Brienne Tarth, their secondary soprano singer, who hasn’t spoken a word until now even if she’s the main subject of this conversation, openly flinches, but then she clears her throat and everyone in the room looks at the wall against which she had been standing. “I thought,” she says slowly, “that the entire point of doing opera was knowing how to  _sing_ , not how you look. Or am I wrong?”

Jaime wants to laugh - gods, when she had auditioned to join his father’s company Cersei had almost told her to leave already the moment she showed up, but then Tyrion heard her out, good thing that being in charge of the financial side of this wretched business his father sacrificed the both of them to since they were able to form proper sentences means he has a say. And - the woman might be tall, with shoulder shaped like a man’s and a  _body_  shaped like a man’s, her nose too large, her features everything but a painted picture, with just her large, blue eyes redeeming them, but she can sing like a bloody literal angel. Too bad that she’s a soprano and not a mezzo, otherwise she could have taken the travesti roles, but - she can’t.

At the beginning, he  _had_  teased her about how horrid she looked like in the elaborated gowns she had to be stuffed in when she usually goes around in men’s garb. She had teased him right back, which is something not many people ever do, given that he’s  _the owner’s son_  and used to be the male frontman of the troupe.

That is, until six months ago someone actually mistook a  _real_  sword for a prop and given it to the man he was supposed to be dueling against during the swordfight in  _La forza del destino_.

Jaime sighs and looks down at his right arm - since he lost the hand, his sister has barely even talked to him and refused to co-star with him in any production where they could reasonably co-star in, which brought the company to lose quite an amount of money.

Now, this bloody  _Fidelio_  is about the one chance his illustrious father has of gaining a permanent stage and some of that money back, and Jaime is the only one who can sing Florestan in their entire cast.

And Brienne is about the only one who can sing Leonore, and  _that_ is something Cersei isn’t exactly happy about.

Actually, she’s dreadfully angry about that.

Brienne, though, isn’t wrong, and Cersei has to know it, too.

“Not when we have to  _make sure the audience_  -”

“If they dislike her face that much,” Tywin cuts her, “they can just close their eyes. And no one can accuse me of encouraging my  _twin_  children to play lovers. This is the last I want to hear about it, are we clear?”

Cersei could have pushed it. Jaime is sure she  _would_  have. But that tone was  _final_ , and she huffs and relents saying that she won’t be responsible when the opera is a complete failure.

She storms out of the room, slamming the door on the way out.

Tywin waits a long moment, and then -

“You two better give the performance of  _your life_. Am I clear?”

Brienne looks straight at him in the eyes as she says she wouldn’t dare do anything other than that and Jaime, not for the first time, thinks she has guts of steel. He wouldn't have been able to stare at his father as he said that, for sure.

 

II.

 

“So, are you  _finally_  glad that you’re in your ideal clothing?” Jaime tells her as she comes on stage for rehearsals, dressed fully in a guard uniform that for once has been sewed especially for her instead of giving her hastily modified hand-me-downs. At least his father is investing money on his  _lead_ , given that he can’t have her going around in mismatched clothes.

“Certainly it’s more comfortable than yours.”

Which is a point - Jaime is wearing old torn clothes, he has grown his beard and hair  _especially_  for this stupid part and his wrists are chained to the wall. Their director and conductor certainly didn’t go down easy on him, but it’s not a mystery that Stannis detests working for them and only does it because the pay is good, the work is steady and he has a daughter to raise on his own. Being from former well-off families doesn’t pay off when your brother has gambled away your entire estate  _and_  wealth, after all.

“Well, you could lend it to me. After all, aren’t we the same height, almost?”

“ _Lannister_ ,” Stannis sighs loudly, gritting his teeth. “We are here to rehearse her aria first and your duet later, at least twice, if you forgot it. Can you  _please_  keep your pleasantries for later?”

“Very well,” he agrees. “Let’s do our best, shall we?”

“We shall,” Brienne agrees, her wide, blue eyes looking at him with uttermost seriousness, but - she also looks excited about this, underneath, in a way that’s almost heartwarming because she’s been with them for three years and she’s never had a leading role.

He can feel her. After all, when he was still sixteen and  _liked_  this job, he had dreamed of visiting other countries and singing the comedies he actually enjoyed listening to - he’s never quite told anyone that he still has daydreams of being first-billed at La Scala someday. Then his father informed him that given how his voice had settled he was more suited for dramas and he should take that seriously.  _Extremely_  seriously. There was family money and reputation on the line.

Jaime always  _hated_  dramas. Even if he hates this one less than most - at least it ends well instead of the usual bloodbath.

God, he  _wishes_  he could just have fun singing opera the way he used to once upon a time - he certainly never took it as seriously as Cersei did, and somehow he always was better than her at it. At least he did bother studying languages that weren’t Italian, just in case.

But he thinks he likes her enthusiasm, and leans against the wall as she launches into  _[Abscheulicher! wo eilst du hin?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2b3OZ95jlg)_ , and -

It’s not that he’s never heard her sing. It’s that given that he’s just in half of this bloody opera, he hadn’t showed up to the previous rehearsals. 

He’s left speechless as she goes through the entire recitative looking as if she’s physically pained, even if the singing flows out of her effortlessly, and then the moment it moves fully into the aria her expression suddenly turns  _determined_  and when she moves into  _ich folg’ dem innern Triebe_  and starts going about love guiding her and not trembling with fear anymore she looks like she  _means_  every damned word of it.

 _How much have they wasted her talent until this point?_ , Jaime asks himself. Or better, how much Cersei and  _his father_ , because he wouldn’t have really cared about letting her lead and neither would Tyrion, but - gods, she’s good. She’s really good. He’s almost moved as she looks straight at the empty theater, her hand going to the belt where her fake sword is resting, and she wears it better than most men in the troupe. She usually holds herself up as if she’s entirely self-conscious of her looks, but right now she’s  _not_ , and it’s obvious that she’s putting all of herself into this bloody role, and -

How she reminds him of himself, he thinks wearily. She’s also ten years younger than he is and possibly chose this for herself, but still.

He’s ready for it when his turn comes to rehearse their duet - he’s going to be professional at least - and at least Stannis doesn’t think he’s been hideous at it. Actually, he has more to complain with the orchestra than with them - good thing that. 

But he still stops them after the rehearsal.

“I should hope neither of you will tell our gracious employer what  _I_  will ask you now,” Stannis says with a long-lasting sigh. “But there is just one thing that is wrong. He said to keep this production  _appropriate_. I imagine he told you.”

“He did,” Brienne confirms.

“Very well, then I shall speak without many ceremonies. This is a  _heartfelt_  piece.”

Right, because Stannis actually  _doesn’t loathe the music he directs_. Jaime would like to know how he can manage it, given that he loathes most of the dramas he has to sing.

“He has been held prisoner for  _months_  if not years. You haven’t seen him in that long. He has just sung for a good ten minutes about seeing his wife who will come and save him  _like an angel would_. You want to rescue him and you went as far as pretending to be a man and not refusing a marriage proposal just to infiltrate the prison. It is  _entirely_  unlikely that either of you would stand still and merely look at the other once in a while.”

“Are you saying we should be, less appropriate?” Jaime suggests.

“Lannister, you are  _rarely_  appropriate. Maybe this time you should put it into practice,” Stannis sighs, before reaching for his worn-out but extremely well-kept coat and biding them goodbye.

“What do you say,” Jaime asks Brienne a moment later, “do we take that advice?”

“I have no problem with it, if you don’t.”

Jaime thinks about his father’s nightmarish worry about being  _appropriate_  and not risking making some old lady worry about  _indecent_  touching on a respected stage.

“So you would risk your future career in the name of aesthetic integrity?” Jaime asks, unable to keep the question in. She shrugs, then she looks at him.

“Singing was the one thing I knew I was good at,” she replies quietly. “I knew my looks would not have helped if I wanted to make a life out of it. I spent  _years_  taking lessons. My father sacrificed quite a lot so that I could learn the languages and not just pronounce the words right. I  _love_  it even if it’s tiring and I have barely gotten any recognition for it. I - I like this role. I like it a lot. And I want to make it justice. I think Mr. Baratheon is right. I want this opera to be the best we can make it. Do you?”

Jaime shrugs, and figures he owes her the truth. “At the beginning, I couldn’t care less. I haven’t cared for years. But for this one, I think I might.”

“Good,” she replies, smiling just a tiny bit, her hand tentatively touching his right arm.

Jaime thinks that Cersei barely even  _looks_  at his arm these days.

Maybe he wants to put some effort in this more because Brienne seems invested than he is, but that’s beside the point.

 

III.

 

Fact is: they don’t get to rehearse that scene properly because his father is always around, and so they stick to standing on separated sides of the stage.

The opening night, Jaime just listens from behind the stage - Cersei fumes whenever the audience seems to appreciate, and he’s fairly happy to see her quite literally seething when Leonore’s aria is met with wild applause. So far so good.

His own is - well. He puts effort in it. He has learned to like this idiot he's playing, even if he somehow managed to land himself in a prison cell for  _years_  and he spends his time hallucinating. How fun. But the more Cersei wanted this opera to fail the more he kind of wanted it to succeed, never mind that he wants Brienne to have her moment of glory if only because she deserves it and if  _he_  is a bitter old cynic it’s not as if everyone has to be. So he sings it well and maybe he feels  _good_ about it when his rendition is met with applause not as wild as Brienne's, but certainly enthusiastic.

Things proceed exactly as they should, until -

Until it’s time for the infamous duet.

He doesn’t know what he should expect, but the moment everyone else is out of the room and the music starts, Brienne  _runs_  towards him and -

And puts her arms around his shoulders without warning, but of course she couldn’t, and  _there’s_  his cue, he can’t waste time pondering what the hell she's doing, they both have to go into -

“[O namenlose Freude](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdnMxf-FcOs)!” 

_Oh nameless joy!_

She doesn’t quite let him go then. Right, because -

“Du wieder nun in meinen Armen,” she sings, sounding as if she’s just about to cry.

_Once again in my arms -_

“Gott, wie gross is dein Erbarmen,” he keeps on.

 _God, how great is your mercy_! 

Yeah, as if. Jaime hasn’t entertained that thought in ages -

But then he moves back and looks at her, they have to sing together -

“O Gott, dir Dank, für diese Lust!”

_Oh God, thank you for this joy -_

And she looks like she’s about to cry, and he doesn’t know if people can see it, but the way her hands are moving over his face, almost cradling his cheeks, is - gods, she  _knows_  how to act, and she’s really entirely better than the whole lot of them.

And that’s before she holds him close again, less harshly.

“Mein Mann an dieser Brust!”

_My man held against this bosom -_

“Mein Weib an meiner Brust!”

_My woman held against this bosom -_

God, what a  _horrible_ line, not that the average is any better, but as he repeats it all over again, her voice harmonizing with his  _better_  than it had during rehearsals, he finds himself thinking,  _I wish_.

He looks at her as he supposedly thanks God for all this joy all over again, and for a moment he almost says  _Brienne_  instead of Leonore but he manages to catch himself before making her miss the cue, and then she sends him a  _look_  and moves slightly closer and -

 _Dir Dank für diese Lust_ , they sing one last time, and he doesn’t know what to expect, but as she moves forward and her mouth touches his own just barely, for a moment there’s only silence.

Then the audience  _erupts_  in wild cheering the way he had hoped it would for something he actually enjoyed singing years ago, and as she moves away - but not much - she mouths,  _was that all right_?

They’re still cheering.

They might be for a little while yet.

 _Yes_ , he mouths back, smiling as her hand slowly, gently covers the bandages covering what’s left of his wrist, and he doesn’t know what happens after the last curtain call and he’s fairly sure they wouldn’t be headed for Milan if it was up to his sister to decide -

But right now he doesn’t think he cares. For now he thinks he wants to finish and maybe ask her if she meant it for real after the curtain calls.

From the way she’s looking at him, he has a feeling she did.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's interested: the Wagner opera Cersei's dying to sing is the second in the Ring where there's a fairly interesting (for her) incest in between twin siblings (... GRRM probably listens to Wagner? we just don't know), and _la forza del destino_ has a bad fame in the sense that since a lot of Shit with the capital S happened while playing it (including people dying mid-aria) there's this urban legend that it brings bad luck. Obviously it's not true but still. Sorry Jaime /o\


End file.
